May I Bring You Some Just Desserts?
by Latebloomnriter
Summary: Tod and Buz become entangled in the problems of Tod's former college friends.


May I Bring You Some Just Deserts?

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.

I created some original characters for this story. Their names came from my imagination. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or another fictional character, is purely coincidental.

The story took way too long to finish, as I became distracted by some other writing efforts.

In this story, I attempt to follow the series format of giving a strong point of view to "guest characters."

 _Anne Abbott Elliott. Vassar Grad, married to Paul Elliott. Girlfriend of Tod Stiles during his last year at Yale._

 _Paul Elliott. Yale grad. Former fraternity brother of Tod Stiles._

 _Miranda Gorham Evans. Vassar grad. Married to Peter Evans. Former sorority sister of Anne Abbott Elliott._

 _Peter Evans. Yale grad. Former fraternity brother and roommate of Tod Stiles._

"After working this job," declared Tod, "I've come to the conclusion that my greatest personal accomplishment, the true test of my character, is that I have always been decent to waiters." He lay sprawled on his bed, with his legs dangling over the end. He was too tired to finish undressing just then. "My feet are killing me." He waggled them to ease the discomfort. "My Dad was wrong. The measure of a man isn't what he does when no one is looking; it's how much he tips for good service. I never knew how hard it was to be a waiter-on your feet for hours, remembering all those orders, juggling plates..."

"I don't know what you're complaining about," grumbled Buz. He was sprawled on the other twin bed in the same position as Tod. "At least you're not in that hot kitchen all night, washing all those dishes and then running out to clear the tables and come back to wash more dishes. Look at this." He raised his arms, showing reddened hands and knuckles.

"I can't believe," answered Tod, "that as many times as you've shoved those in some guy's face, that you're worried about a little soapy water."

"It's the principle of it. Busting someone's face is, well, like a good cause. Besides, a busboy can't make enough to live on, like you high end waiters. Not even with taking a cut of the tips. I'm barely contributing, even with staying late and cleaning up."

"And my face," Tod jabbed his fingers into his cheeks. "It is frozen into a perpetual smile, broken only to recite the day's chant 'The salmon is excellent tonight.' "

"I should try being a waiter."

"You? What do you suppose you would do the first time someone thinks the silverware isn't clean, or sends back a perfectly cooked meal?" Tod envisioned Buz in that sort of moment: _Whadda ya mean the wine hasn't breathed enough? It's perfect as it is, ya ignorant slob. Try it this way-_ and dashing the contents of the glass in the customer's face. The image made him snicker.

"Or a bartender. I could learn to do that."

"You'd have to hear everyone's problems and manage the drunks-without hurting anybody- and memorize scores of tabs."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong. That's in a regular bar. At our restaurant bar, it's mostly filling order from the servers. Only a few people are at the bar. Besides, I'm a good listener." He thought too that his success rate with the waitresses would improve if he were a bartender rather than a busboy/dish washer. "I'll speak to the manager tomorrow, see if he'll give me a shot if the regular bartenders get sick or quit or something."

They were both silent for a moment. Buz spoke up again. "Do you suppose that we serve some of the salmon we caught in Astoria?"

"Not a chance. What wasn't canned was shipped out the next day, flown to expensive restaurants across the country later that day."

"How do you like that," Buz mused. "I been on a cheap plane maybe twice, but a piece of dead fish jets all over the country."

"I imagine the fish would trade places just to be able to breathe again and not be filleted," Tod said wryly. He took one of his pillows and threw it at Buz. "Come on. We'd better get to sleep if we're going to do this all over again tomorrow night."

Buz threw the pillow back. "It's actually today. We got home well past midnight. Get ready to memorize the specials that I'll be scraping off the plates."

R66

Anne Abbott Elliott, Vassar '61, was trying to finish dressing for the evening. She was dealing with undisputable evidence that she had gained a few pounds since she last wore this dress. Despite the girdle which promised notable slimming for hours of comfort and good looks, the zipper was stuck a couple of inches from the top. Damn. She had so looked forward to everything going right this evening. It seemed like a long time since everything was right for her.

It seemed like a long time, but chronologically, it was not. She was a year and half out of college. She had loved Vassar, with camaraderie of like-minded women, sharing thoughts, ideas, and ideals. She had been an excellent student, double major in English and psychology, looking forward to the future. She graduated on schedule, by the end of 1961 having her two planned degrees: B.S. and M.R.S.

The latter degree for marriage had seemed in doubt for a while. She and most of the other girls in the sorority enjoyed the attentions of the Yale boys coming south from New Haven to Poughkeepsie, and alternately the girls heading north to New Haven. It was simply understood that there would be marriages to the boys of the right family, who would soon have the right jobs, and produce the right number of kids. She dated Tod Stiles most of their junior year, and she had begun to seriously think that he might be "the one." Everyone agreed he was a good catch. Tall, handsome, smart and genuinely kind. Tod could be trusted to hold a girl's hair back and her head when she vomited into a sink after having too much to drink. He never allowed any other boys to take advantage of the drunken girls either, and never made cutting remarks afterward. His own future seemed secure-he was to join his father's shipping business and any future wife was sure to enjoy the New York night life, weekends and summers in Montauk, and other amenities of the Manhattan social scene. Then everything fell apart.

Tod's father died suddenly in late summer of 1960 and the business was bankrupt. She had offered condolences and sympathy-the bouquet was quite lovely-but this sort of upheaval was new to their crowd and she wasn't sure what to say. Tod never returned to school, and left the area.

Paul had stepped in the picture senior year. He was a fraternity brother of Tod's, so Anne and Paul were already acquainted. Paul too came from a good family, and had good prospects, but she had not particularly noticed him until she and Tod had broken up. Paul lacked Tod's height and charisma, but she warmed to him over the semester and they married in the fall of 1961. Anne started her married life happy and confident for the future.

The happiness and confidence didn't last. She supposed her imagined future, with such wonderful exchanges of knowledge and ideas, would last into marriage. She realized now that she never had a picture of how this would occur in the adult world outside of college, only that it _would,_ somehow. Without a full schedule of classes, she had a great deal of empty hours to fill. She liked their spacious apartment and took care of it herself-rent was too high to afford regular maid-but even in tending to the home she took her time, because there was so much time. She joined the local country club, and discovered more conversations about children/marriage/fashion and social events, but less substance. Paul would come home worn out after long hours. He had a good job as an Ivy League grad in an investment firm and was trying to work his way up in the company, but he was surrounded by other smart, ambitious Ivy League grads and even smarter, more ambitious men from State universities and graduate schools who relied on more than being children of alumni. Their own conversations were becoming more abbreviated.

It wasn't that Anne was completely isolated. Paul was expected to attend social gatherings that required a suitable wife on his arm, and she tried to do her best in support. It wasn't that her life was terrible, but she couldn't help wonder: Is this all there is?

The dinner tonight was different. Miranda and Peter Evans were good friends, being fellow Vassar and Yale graduates, and it was a rare time to see them alone without an obligatory social event. Peter and Paul worked for the same company, but their wives saw less of each other.

Anne very much wanted to speak privately with Miranda. She didn't seem to have Anne's doubts, and was usually too busy at something or other to have a private lunch with Anne. Something was keeping her fulfilled. _What is wrong with me, why can't I have this?_ wondered Anne.

Miranda was to stop by and pick her up, and they would meet their husbands at the restaurant.

R66

Miranda, as usual, looked perfectly pulled together. A tall, sleek brunette with slanted green cat's eyes, she made her usual slinky entrance into the room. Anne was never intimidated by Miranda. They had always enjoyed posing together, benefiting from the contrast in looks. Miranda being dark and exotic, while Anne was the classic beauty who could assume the mysterious air of a Hitchcock blonde, if she felt like it.

"A new one? Any special occasion?" Anne indicated Miranda's new dress. Miranda twirled around obligingly to show it off.

"Ask me later." Miranda was good at the enigmatic smile herself.

"I was hoping...I wanted to talk to you. I need some advice, and we have some time before meet the boys."

"What is it? Is there something wrong?"

"Well, it's that-it's hard to say, but I've been wondering-how do you manage to be so _content_ with your life? I have this lovely home, a decent husband, even though he works a lot, but I keep wondering, what am I missing? What have you found that I haven't ? What could I be doing wrong?"

The smooth veneer of Miranda's face seemed to crack for a moment. It was fleeting and her expression resumed its normal reserved air before she answered.

"Our dinner tonight means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Miranda asked.

"Oh _yes._ It seems like so long since we've been out with just friends, just to enjoy ourselves."

Miranda blinked her lashes, and there was again that fleeting moment when her composure weakened. "I'll tell you what. It's a long story. Why don't we just wait until after dinner, and maybe have lunch tomorrow?"

"That would be lovely." Two purely social outings with a trusted friend seemed wonderful. How odd that such a simple thing when they were in college was so rare and precious today.

R66

The women chose to wait at the bar for their husbands. Anne felt almost giddy. She was out with friends and tomorrow, she was sure, she would learn from Miranda the trick of how to be happy and fulfilled again, looking forward to a perfect exciting future like she did back at Vassar. She silently laughed at herself, because after all of that thinking back to the Vassar days she imagined she saw Tod Stiles weaving his way through the tables, but it was only a waiter.

"Sorry we're late." Paul and Peter arrived together and each man gave his wife a quick kiss. "The meeting ran long," said Paul apologetically.

"They often do." Miranda studied Peter's face and gave a half smile. "I can imagine what happened."

The hostess sat them at their table and assured them that their waiter would be there shortly. Peter eyed the glasses critically. "He better be quick. I'm ready for a drink." There was clattering at the next table as plates were removed. "Busboy," he said firmly. "We'd like some service here."

Buz look up from the cart he was loading with dishes. The heat from the kitchen and dish washing stations left his shirt plastered to his body. Miranda observed every well-defined muscle. Moving her subtle ogle to his face, she noted his striking, dark good looks. My, he was attractive.

"I'll tell your waiter. He should be along shortly." Buz resisted the impulse to throw something at the arrogant slob. Maybe Tod was right. Buz wasn't cut out to be a waiter. He moved off toward the kitchen.

Paul and Peter looked at each other and started laughing. " 'Your waiter will be along shortly,' " Paul mimicked Buz's accent.

"The best restaurant in town and the kitchen help sounds like a Bowery Boy," Peter added.

"He doesn't look like a Bowery Boy." Miranda watched Buz's retreating form and decided he looked just as good from the rear.

"Well, let's hope Leo Gorcey manages to send the waiter over. Let's get moving with some drinks and dinner." Paul was more than ready.

A waiter was indeed heading their way. Anne was amused that it was the one who had initially put her in mind of Tod Stiles. He came close. It hadn't been her imagination, he really did resemble Tod. The closer he came, the more it was uncanny how two people…. _My god, it really is.._

 _"_ _Tod?!"_

The others looked up stunned into silence after the first recognition. Tod's familiar smile spread widely across his face. "I don't believe it. I had no idea you were here." He began filling their water glasses, chatting the entire time as he moved around the table. "Anne, Paul, Peter, Miranda..it has been a while, hasn't it."

Peter recovered first. "Yes, well. Miranda and I are married now, over a year.."

"Anne and I are also married." Paul found this a bit awkward. He had picked up Anne on the rebound. Tod's circumstances certainly proved Paul was the better choice. Still, the whole thing now was bizarre.

Oddly, Tod didn't seem the least bit fazed. "You couldn't have ended up with better girls. I'm thrilled for all of you. I'd like to talk more, but this is my station, and I have to keep moving. Maybe we can meet up later? And can I bring some drinks?"

"Ah, sure. What do you recommend for an entrée?"

"The salmon is excellent tonight."

R66 r66 r66

"Well," said Peter after Tod had left with their orders. "How the mighty have fallen."

"The last I knew, the business was lost after his father died, and he was going into the shrimp business with Mark. But this… what the hell happened? He must have been able to do better." After the initial shock, Paul found himself secretly pleased at the change in station. "Maybe he only seemed capable, in school, when he had everything. But when you have to show what you're made of, he came up short. Pete, you know him best, you roomed with him. What happened?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't know. He was an odd guy in some ways. I mean, he'd go to some parties and trips like the rest of us, but on long vacations he'd want to be with his father. Said his dad was his best friend. I mean, what sort of guy thinks that? Then, one time in the summer, a few of us were in the city and went down to the docks to invite him out. He said he couldn't leave, that they were down one man because his wife was sick or having a baby or something, and he didn't want to leave his boss to finish cleaning up by himself. His father owns the company, bosses the boss, and Tod still wanted to stay and work all hours. Strange."

"It didn't seem to bother him, being our waiter after we knew each other through school," mused Miranda. "That struck me."

"No," said Anne quietly. She had been silent through much of this. "He seemed _happy."_

 _R66_

Tod maintained his typical good humor throughout the meal, making the occasional quick joke as he served the food or re-filled the water glasses. After the first couple of courses, Peter finally asked him when he got off work.

"Not until closing and the last diners leave my stations. Say, you can probably hang out here a bit later. My buddy is staying late to do the final cleanup, so I have to stay and give him a ride home." He gestured over to the dark busboy, who eyed Tod's companions at the table with a cool, measured expression.

The two couples stayed on, as the quiet bustle of the restaurant ended and it emptied of almost everyone. Tod loosened his tie and joined them again at their table.

"It feels like a lifetime," he said. "I'm not sure where to begin. You all know I lost my Dad and remember what happened after that. The business was gone to pay off all the creditors, and carry the workers for a bit so they could try to find something else. " He was going to continue but Paul interrupted.

"Why? I always wondered why you did that, instead of declaring bankruptcy. You could have-or somebody could have, kept the business going while you stayed in school until you graduated."

Tod frowned, as if this was an odd idea. "I couldn't have done that. There were other businesses supplying us that we owed money too, plus the loans. There were other people, with families, who would have suffered if we only paid a fraction of what was owed them. People who had more obligations and less opportunity than me to go on. I wanted everybody to get paid. Eventually it took the sale of the house and all the furnishings to settle up. The only thing I had left was the car. Didn't I say this before I left?"

There were some general murmurs and gestures, as if the old friends at the table had expected that a more logical answer would have been forthcoming with the passage of time. There was no other response to Tod's calm certainty over his actions. The quartet found his decision as inexplicable now as before, but maintained their best social manners to hide it.

"So, since then, I've traveled across the country and back, with nothing more than a couple of suitcases, the car, and my buddy. You name it, I've probably done it or seen it-and seen more than you can imagine. There's a whole world out there beyond what we were thinking about back at Yale. I feel that the world is open to me, and if I keep looking, I'll find and grab what will be the right star for me."

This was an outlook foreign to his friends, at least to the men. Anne and Miranda noted Tod's position with a certain amount of wistfulness. Why couldn't women in their position have these experiences and wide open opportunities, instead of the confines of their social strata? Neither woman realized that the confines were of their own acceptance of the role deemed for them, and that with initiative and hard work, they could have blazed some different trails.

The conversation moved on to old times and jokes, and discussions of current events. Tod surprisingly seemed to have an understanding of the modern business world and cultural events despite having left "the game" for a couple of years. His friends still noted his confident air despite his reduced circumstances. He seemed to take everything in stride despite the difference in their financial stations. He smiled and laughed, even when the dark busboy, wheeling a cart in front of him, knocked his elbow into the back of Tod's head.

Conversation eventually became more difficult when Buz started vacuuming and the group struggled to hear each other speak. Peter spoke up now. "We have some time, it's not that late. Why don't we go out for a final nightcap?"

"You'd have to give me a ride," answered Tod. "I'll ask my buddy if he minds. Be back in a minute."

The friends watch him jerk a thumb over his shoulder in their direction as he spoke with the busboy. The dark young man craned his head in their direction with a disdainful look, and held out his hand as Tod forked over the keys.

"At least I'm dressed," Tod joked. His clean white server's shirt did a good imitation of normal semi-formal wear, as if he were still a well-to-do young man rather than a waiter. The talk went on, with Tod deftly keeping the conversation going whenever there was an uncomfortable lull.

"Listen," said Peter. "We have some openings in the business. What say we put together something for you to look over? The whole gang could be together again."

"I'm open to considering it. But, could you send me a list of all the openings? I mean, my buddy might want to make a change, besides having immediate ambitions to try bartending."

There was that odd mention of his friend again, the one who was not of his class. Peter did not mention that he found the request strange, but merely said he would look into it.

Time passed into the wee hours when they finally dropped Tod off at his boarding house.

 _R66_

The women exchanged the usual pleasantries and ordered lunch. Something suitably light, to keep their figures, but something to drink as well. "Well," asked Miranda, "What did you want to talk about?"

Anne had been rehearsing. "I've been wondering,' she began. "How-how do you stay happy?"

Miranda looked at her in surprise. "Do you mean you aren't happy?"

"Well, I don't know. It seems strange, doesn't it? I keep thinking I'm missing something. I wish I could feel what you do. We have similar backgrounds, our husbands are alike, but you seem more content than I do. You're happy being Mrs. Peter Evans. I don't know why I'm at a loss being Mrs. Paul Elliott. It was wonderful at first. How do you do it?"

The crack in Miranda's composed face appeared, as it had the other night. She sipped her drink, and studied Anne's honest, confused face. Poor girl. She was still a bit of a child.

"I was like you too, at the start," began Miranda. "I wanted nothing more than to be the good understanding wife to Peter. I never complained when he worked late, and I was the perfect wife at the company parties. Then one night, I thought I would visit when he was working late, cheer him up, and bring a nice dinner. I would give him a break from what he was doing." She paused took another sip of her drink and looked away.

"And? What happened?'"

"I never spoke to him. I left when I saw what he was doing. He never saw me."

"What was he doing?"

"His secretary. He was doing his secretary, on his desk."

"Wha-what?! Are you sure?"

"It was hard to mistake for anything else." Miranda's expression has turned bitter.

"What did you do next?"

"I confronted him. He denied it even happened, that I misunderstood. But, since I was uncomfortable, he agreed to fire his secretary. So, I tried to move on. But that wasn't the end. There were more secretaries, more late nights, more business trips without wives."

"Oh, Miranda." What did you say to someone? "I'm so sorry. But, how do you seem happy?"

"Do I seem happy, really? Drama classes, remember? Well, I did learn to manage. I didn't like being alone all the time, except for being on exhibition. So-I'm not lonely."

"What do you mean?"

"What is the expression? Turnabout is fair play? Sauce for the goose and gander? I found my own distractions."

"You don't mean, you _cheated_ on Peter?"

"Anne, why is it worse for me to do it, than for Peter? What am I supposed to do? Leave him? How would I manage as a divorcee? What support could I get, and what about Peter's career if we divorced so young. We're both doing"- she hesitated to get the words out and hold herself together-"what almost everyone else is doing."

"That's bitter and cynical," responded Anne. "I know Paul.."

"What do you know about Paul? He's with Peter a lot, isn't he? Cheating is part of what the men do in the club, isn't it? It's almost expected."

Anne looked devastated. Miranda squirmed, and took pity. It was bound to be a rude awakening. It certainly had been for Miranda.

She tried to steer the conversation. "Tod still seems nice, even though his circumstances are certainly different." Anne stared back, looking alarmed at the suggestion Miranda seemed to be making. Still so naïve. Miranda shifted gears again.

"That dark friend of his-didn't Tod say they shared a room?"

 _R66_

 _"_ Are you sure you don't mind about this offer to Tod?" asked Peter. He and Paul were at the country club having lunch,

"Why not? It isn't at our level, of course, since he has no degree, but he'll probably do the work just fine. He can move eventually, join the country club and play golf like the rest of us-if he actually has what it takes."

"What I mean is, he and Anne were pretty close at one time. Do you really want him around?"

Paul considered Peter's words for a moment. "I don't think anything will happen. I can't see a choirboy like Tod going after a friend's wife. Besides, Anne's not like that."

They were interrupted by Miranda. "I didn't know you were here. Anne and I just finished lunch a little while ago. I'm on my way to a tennis lesson." She noticed the papers on the table. "Is that the offer for Tod?"

"That's it. I'm arranging for a courier to deliver it."

"Well, "said Miranda smoothly, "I'm going not far from his place to a charity meeting after tennis. Why don't I drop it off?"

"Sure," said her husband. "That would work out fine."

"I certainly hope so," smiled Miranda.

 _R66_

The stairwell and hallway seemed clean and respectable, though not of the quality found in Miranda's usual orbit. She herself looked polished and pulled together, though she hoped she wouldn't look that way for much longer.

As she had hoped, it was Buz who eventually opened the door. He looked appealingly disheveled, tired, and a little cross.

"Yeah, what is it?"

She smiled. "I have some papers for Tod. She glanced around Buz into the room. No sign of Tod. "May I come in?"

"Tod's not here. I'll take the papers." He held out his hand.

Miranda pulled the papers back playfully. "I think you should ask me in." She held out the papers again.

"I haven't got time for this." Buz snatched the papers before she could pull back again.

Miranda tried a more mocking tone. "Is this how you repay service? I think my good service should be met with..more service."

Buz mirrored her smirk. "If you want service, better call a mechanic." The door closed abruptly in Miranda's face.

 _R66_

She was waiting to catch him on his way home. Anne knew that Tod had received the various job openings, and hoped to hear about his acceptance. Parking on the street was crowded that day, and she had a good view of his house, though parked in the next block. The boarding house was in a respectable area, one of a number of large Victorians converted to hold several rooms or apartments. Tod had no better luck finding a space close in, and pulled in near her car.

"Hello there! Would you care to take a short walk with a lady?"

"Anne! I wasn't expecting this. What brings you here?" She accepted his hand as he opened the door and helped her out of the car and they strolled down the sidewalk toward his boarding house.

"I admit, I was dying of curiosity, and hoping for good news. You're taking one of the jobs, aren't you?"

"Well, no, I'm not."

Anne stopped dead. "But why? Why not?"

"Anne, I could have taken any number of entry level office or business jobs if I wanted. I just don't want to. It was different when I was learning about the family business, and planning to take that over one day. I got to work with my hands first, you see, and understand all the aspects, and what the workers did because I did it too. I want to have some sort of passion for what I do. I mean, I'll always give my best to whatever job I take, but I take an offered job when I want it, or because we're so low on money that we have to take what we can get, wherever we are."

"I don't understand it. Why would you put yourself in such desperate straits? You can do better than this, Tod. You're a better person than those who have to take what they can get."

"I don't know why you say that. I'm not better because I can quote from the classics and started out life with more opportunity than a most people. None of that makes me better, more generous, braver, or more accomplished in important things. I know I've made some difference in people's lives in my travels. That was important."

"Tod," Anne was becoming exasperated and, deep inside, desperate at Tod's rejection of her world. She woke some of her slumbering schooling in psychology. "Don't you see what you're doing? You're running away from all that was good, pretending not to want it because, well, as a way to handle that you don't have it now. But you could have it again, if you weren't afraid to take it, without fear of losing it again." She saw the surprised look on Tod's face, and underneath a hint of uncertainty. Anne pressed on.

"You have to fight the fear Tod, so it doesn't have this kind of power over you. Don't run away, please, for your sake. You want to be happy, don't you?"

They were in front of his house now. Tod hesitated. "I don't know. I do know that 'happy' isn't something you can expect to fall in your lap because you're a nice person, and do the right thing. Anything can happen in a minute, and it can all disappear. 'Happy' has to be fought for sometimes. You can't expect anyone to give it you, either. You have to find it for yourself." That he was running away, instead of toward something, was not what he had believed he was doing. "Maybe, maybe I'll think about it some more." He looked up at the house, and changed his mind about going inside. "Let's go back to your car. I need to drive around a bit and think."

"I think you should."

"Yeah. I hope I can be as happy as you are, right?"

"Of course." They were silent all the way back to Anne's car. She smiled and pulled away quickly, grateful that Tod couldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes.

R66

Paul came home at a respectable hour. To his annoyance, he returned home to a distraught wife.

"Paul, I need to talk to you."

"Honey, can't it wait until after dinner?"

"No, it can't wait. I'm just upset, and I want things to be better."

"What things? Why aren't you happy?"

"I want more than what I have."

"What do you mean, more? Don't I buy you everything you ask for? Just what is it that you want?"

"I don't want actual things like clothes, or furniture. I want to do something more useful than go to luncheons or the club. I just want _more_ than that."

Paul was frustrated at trying to find a solution to a problem that couldn't be described. "All right, if you want to do something else, why don't we just have a baby? Then you can be doing something else instead of luncheons or hanging out with the girls. Okay? Feel better now? What are we having for dinner?"

R66

It was late at night when Tod finally returned home. Only the light in the entry hall was on when Tod entered their room. He could see the mound under blankets that was Buz. He had been wearing himself out with the extra shifts and hadn't stirred at the sound of the door opening and closing. Surely it would violate all rules of buddydom if Tod were to wake him now when Buz needed the sleep so badly.

Of course, if Tod _accidentally_ made some noise and Buz woke, that was something else. Tod hesitated, and kicked the corner of the bed when he walked by. One of Buz's feet, poking out from under the covers, twitched at the disturbance, but there was no other reaction. Annoyed, Tod moved on to his own bed without making a particular effort to be quiet.

"If you want to talk, just say so. You don't have to go around knocking the furniture. It's pathetic. I heard you when you came in."

Sheepishly Tod turned on a lamp and saw Buz's bleary eyes glaring at him. "Well?" Buz's voice was groggy with sleep.

Tod now found himself hesitating. Buz's scowl turned darker. Tod blurted out his feelings. "I think I've been kidding myself about the last couple of years and everything I thought about our journey, looking for something, has been a lie."

Buz looked at him as if he thought Tod has lost his mind. He then spoke and removed all doubt. "I think you're out of your mind. I mean, where do you come up with this shit?"

"Well, I was talking to my college friends. They're on their way to building lives for themselves and-"

"They aren't your friends," interrupted Buz abruptly. "Where were they when your father died, and you lost everything? I can tell you where they weren't, buddy. They weren't here to help you cope, to sort through your fathers' affairs, deal with the end of the business, selling the house, all that. They didn't even come to the funeral, did they? Who were the pallbearers to stand with you? They were your father's attorney, a couple of old friends, you, and me."

"Well, it was summer; they had vacations, plans…" Tod stopped. His answer sounded lame even to him. He had some flowers, some condolence cards, but not much more. Buz's expression was turning contemptuous.

"None of them even tried to help you find a job or nothing. They ran from you like it was all contagious. They can barely be around you now."

"Now that isn't true. We've been talking, and there are job openings at their company. I think they'd be glad to see me succeed."

"No. They're jealous, that's what they are. They're trapped in the rat race, making a buck, strangled in their grey flannel suits like a straitjacket. They can't stand it that you might find something better, your real place in the world. They don't want to bring you up, buddy. They want to bring you down, with them. They can't stand that you might be happy, and they're not."

"Now this is where you're wrong." Buz's words were shaking Tod up, challenging his notions as they often did. He was groping now for a retort. "Even the girls. I know Anne is content, and Miranda spends a lot of time on worthy projects, hobbies..."

Buz snorted. "Yeah, I know about her hobbies: the pool boy, the tennis pro, and she tried to add me to the list."

Tod gaped at him. Buz shook his head in annoyance, and look at Tod almost pityingly, and with unusual patience.

"They're miserable. Your future is as big as the country, and the best they hope for is a corner office on the 27th floor. A couple of talks with them and you act like you're ready to join them. These people are poison to you, Tod."

Tod hadn't been wrong after all. Despite what Anne and the others had said, Tod felt reassured on his path, and the worthiness and _rightness_ of the journey he had been taking these last couple of years. His realization was reflected in a crooked smile. Buz shook his head at the grief and effort it took to bring Tod back to course again.

"So are we through now?"

"Yeah. Yeah we're through." He still wore that crooked smile. Buz sighed and let himself slump back onto his pillows. Tod changed out of his clothes. He would sleep well tonight, eventually. For a while, he would let himself feel refreshed by the bracing but ultimately comforting answers he had been given, that he knew would be given.

R66

Anne pulled to the side of street across from the boarding house. She saw Tod emerge from the converted Victorian, bounding down the steps in youthful high spirits to load something into the trunk of the Corvette. His dark friend followed, and they went back up the stairs, jostling each other to get through the door first. Fools. Childish fools.

Tod didn't understand that he could, and should be working like the rest of them if he wanted to succeed. There was nothing to this searching and traveling to find some sort of ultimate end, a perfect fit. Anne wiped at her eyes. Maybe Paul was right. She would have a baby. Yes, that was the answer. A baby would make everything all right.


End file.
